


Rule of Thumb

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim keeps noticing Blair's mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rule of Thumb

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the 2010 Moonridge Anthology, put together by Caro Dee.

Blair was leaning forward to stare into the mirror, his index finger gently poking at the swelling and the cut puffing out his lower lip.

"Shit. I think I need stitches." He turned to Jim, who leaned against the bathroom door frame with completely false nonchalance, and asked plaintively, "Do you think I need stitches?"

Jim took that one step forward and with his hand framing Blair's stubbly jaw, gently tilted Blair's face upwards to the light that Jim didn't need. His thumb passed gently over the swelling, up the slope and down the slope to the normal softness of Blair's lip.

"I think you're going to get away with letting nature take its course, tiger."

Jim was the one holding Blair's face like a lover, but Blair was the one who blushed. Jim let go and strolled to the kitchen for a beer like a man who hadn't done anything odd at all.

* * *

An all natural, organic tofu berry-freeze cone was not the same as ice cream although Jim was willing to admit, only to himself, that it didn't taste so bad. Blair was certainly going for broke with his. There were small delicate licks with his tongue to catch the drips, an all engulfing kiss of lips red with cold around the rapidly disappearing mound of sweet, the small porno-movie of biting off the end of the cone to suck at the ice cream instead of licking.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said in some desperation, "how worried should I be about phytoestrogens?" It was dumb, but not as dumb as some of the things Jim could have said, especially given how Blair chose to smile at him just then: warm and sweet, with his mouth far more pink than the swirl of berry sitting in Jim's forgotten cone.

"I don't know, man." And god, the way that Blair's lips shaped his words. He bumped companionably against Jim as they walked along the path in the park. "Worried about your masculinity? Concerned that you're going to be embarrassed at the gym, Jim?" He looked quite unreasonably amused at that little (very little) bon mot.

"Just trying to keep my life from getting unnecessarily confused." Jim sighed, because he'd figured out a while ago that it was way too late to be worrying about that. There was a tiny dribble of melted ice cream at the corner of Blair's mouth, and the urge to wipe it off with his thumb was nearly overpowering. But Jim mustered his strength of will, and merely pointed. "You've got a smear, there."

"Oh, thanks." There were some completely unnecessary tongue wigglings and Jim shut his eyes for a moment, before Blair gave up torturing his companion and simply wiped his mouth with his fingers.

* * *

There finally came a point where Jim decided that maybe he should just go for it, just do it, and he kissed Blair, and it had worked out pretty well so far. Jim had spent the best part of a week trying to figure out what exactly it was that made kissing Blair so damn good. (Okay, the free time better part of a week that didn't include crime fighting and time spent in the bullpen, because oh, god, the look that Simon would have on his face, but still - all the free time that a week could afford had been spent in kissing and ensuing activities. Which was a surprisingly large amount of time.)

Was it the fact that he finally was actually kissing Blair? All that pent-up passion (and shit, whether he wrote for Harlequin, or Penthouse letters, he shouldn't give up his day job) finally had a chance to express itself, all those repressed feelings could sneak out disguised as two guys sucking face. Maybe that was exactly it – the way that Blair sucked at Jim's mouth, at his tongue, at any patch of skin, drawing him in, swallowing everything, every last little doubt, every last need.

Sometimes Blair had words, vibrating against his skin, and Jim kissed him and swallowed those words, and let Blair smile against his skin, mouth to mouth. And when that was over, Jim liked to gently run his thumb over Blair's delicately sensitized mouth, just to trace out the shape. Because he could.


End file.
